Love in the Ruins
by GrimSlasher
Summary: This is a repost - the original fic seemed to disappear when I tried to combine the chapters. At any rate, it's a slash fic: Remus and Sirius spend time together during the summer after the Return of Lord Voldemort. Features an evil Malfoy plot and quite
1. Remus

Three men and two large, lumpy burdens. 

That's what a passerby, a traveler hurrying home at dusk down the narrow country lane, would have seen. But there were no observers as the men in swirling black robes approached the lonely barn, the last standing remnant of a old farm that some people in the neighbourhood said was haunted.

"Watch it," hissed the shortest of the robed figures as they neared the door to the weatherbeaten building. The other two, taller and heavier than the speaker, each struggled to carry something about the size of a man wrapped in blankets. One of these loads struggled back and was responsible for knocking the shorter man from behind.

"You said not to stun this one," came the thick reply. 

"Mind that you keep him away from me, then," said the shorter man in a tone of command as he used a wand to free the door from a spell. He swung open the door and, stepping aside, said, "Hurry. Put them in there."

With twin thuds, the burdens hit the hard dirt floor of the empty barn. The blankets fell away to reveal two men wrapped tightly with cords at their wrists and ankles. The man with lighter hair --brown or blond; it was difficult to tell in the dim light-- struggled against his bonds; the other, with jet black hair, barely moved and appeared to be unconscious. 

The three men now standing in the doorway wore black masks which completely covered their faces. Only the eyes of the leader, glittering in malicious triumph, gave some hint of what was going on as he looked down at his captives.

"Dangerous creatures like werewolves should not be about on the full moon," he drawled lazily. "I think it best that you stay here for the night."

  
  


"You don't need that mask," Remus Lupin said calmly from his spot in the dirt, "I know who you are, Lucius Malfoy."

"Very perceptive, werewolf," Malfoy chortled softly as he pulled off the mask, slicking back his pale blond hair. "I had heard reports that you were intelligent." He shrugged casually as if he didn't know whether to believe them or not.

"Although," he continued, handing his mask to one of the hulking goons behind him, "I am still shocked that Dumbledore allowed you to teach at Hogwarts. Imagine. My own son taught by a dangerous_ creature_ such as you."

Remus remained silent. There didn't seem to be much to say and he had never been good with those quick insults, the sort which always rolled off Sirius' tongue...or James' for that matter. He divided his attention between Malfoy, now searching his robe for something, and Sirius, who still lay motionless several feet away from him.

In the rapidly fading light, Remus could make out the gaunt face, smeared with dirt and bleeding from a cut on the forehead. Sirius breathed normally enough, and that would have to do for now.

"We have heard," said Malfoy, using the imperious _we_ which could only mean Voldemort, "that you are still working for that old fool of a wizard." The Death Eater strolled toward his captives as easily as if he'd been out for an afternoon walk in the park. "We have heard that you have been visiting others of your kind lately."

Yes. That _was_ true. At Dumbledore's request Remus had spent much of the summer trying to find werewolves in Britain, Ireland, and Europe in the hope that they could be talked out of supporting Voldemort.

"Foolish errand, Ambassador to Werewolves!" spat Malfoy gleefully.

Remus might agree with him there. So far he had had little success, except perhaps with the Basque Separatist Werewolves, but they didn't much like anybody.

A glimmer of metal from Malfoy's robes and a familiar cold chill down his spine caused Remus to pull back, to try at any rate. He felt the presence of danger before he could see it.

"The Dark Lord has found your missionary work rather annoying," Malfoy said, revealing the dagger -- silver, of course -- as he squatted down, careful to move his cloak aside as if to protect it from touching them. "We have been waiting for your return to pay you a visit, and then this little opportunity arose." He pointed at Sirius with the tip of the dagger.

"What quarrel do you have with him?" Remus asked against his better judgement. Talking with Malfoy was probably useless, but he felt all of a sudden protective and guilty for exposing Sirius to danger by association.

"Sirius Black," hissed the Death Eater softly, running the tip of the dagger down the side of Sirius' face in a way that made Remus shiver. "Sirius Black has leave to visit his godson on his birthday."

"How--" Remus gasped out the word without thinking.

"We have our little spies," chuckled Malfoy. "And they tell us that tomorrow Harry Potter, now staying with those insufferable Weasleys, can expect a visit from his godfather. Well, when I heard this, I thought that with a bit of advance planning, I might make up a special potion for the occasion. A birthday present, if you will."

Malfoy grabbed Sirius' hair with his other hand in a sudden movement and yanked the unconscious head up, holding it like a trophy, like Perseus with the head of Medusa.

"I have most of what I need for brewing a Polyjuice Potion. I thought I'd finish it up tonight in your kitchen, Lupin, if you don't mind. I know you won't be home." 

With a swift, brutal stroke, Malfoy drew the dagger across Sirius' face and up through his hair, slicing across his cheek in a way which seemed deliberate and coming away with a lock of black hair. Sirius' head fell back to the ground with a sickening thud.

"Sirius Black _will_ be visiting his godson tomorrow," laughed Malfoy, turning to show Remus his prize. "And I will deliver to the Dark Lord something he has wanted for a long, long time: Harry Potter."

Malfoy moved closer to Remus and pointed the bloody dagger at him. The mere presence of the metal this close made him uncomfortable and the other man sensed this, judging by the serene smile of pleasure on his face. As Malfoy drew the point lightly across his throat; Remus wanted to cry out, but forced himself to be silent. He wasn't going to give this gloating Death Eater the satisfaction.

"Don't worry about your friend here," clucked Malfoy in mock sympathy. "He's not harmed, really. The Stupefy Curse will wear off in an hour or so."

"When _does_ the moon rise, by the way?" Merely a rhetorical question and a cruel one at that. They both knew moonrise would be soon. Remus could feel the Change coming in every cramped and aching muscle of his body.

Malfoy stood up lazily and looked down at both men. "Crabbe," he said sharply over his shoulder and one of the masked hulks attended him. He thrust the dagger and hair into his minion's hands and turned his attention back to his prisoners.

"I should think that the moon will be up within the half hour, so you won't be much of a conversationalist when your friend here wakes." A sly grin was visible on his face even in the dim light. "Perhaps you should say goodbye to him now."

Malfoy walked back to the doorway and turned to face Remus and Sirius. He produced a wand and waved it casually, making the cords binding them vanish. "Happy hunting!" he called, turning his back on the room. "Goyle, bar the door."

Goyle hurried forward at the sound of his master's voice, and barred the door without jamming more than two of his beefy fingers.

And our heroes were left discarded on the cold dirt floor.

Remus was already busy, rubbing at his abraded wrists, and trying to get some life back into his numb limbs, all the while sending concerned looks towards Sirius.

He had good reason for concern. His friend was, as promised by Malfoy, still quite unconscious, and there was just something profoundly wrong about a motionless Sirius. Wasn't this the boy who was given to motion even when he slept, living out dreamtime adventures like a sleeping puppy?

No, it wasn't: this was the man the boy had grown into. And hadn't he always suspected that the motion was not _entirely_ unconscious? "Really, Remus. I had _no_ idea what my hand was doing!" - huh, a likely excuse.

Remus, shaking out his fingers, tried to shake off this intimate memory. He glanced over at the adult Sirius again, and was struck by how vulnerable he seemed: especially that hollow in his left temple, looking quite defenceless now that the lock of hair that had once covered it was gone.

He had to get over to his friend! Giving up on his extremities, Remus started crawling across the floor, his legs shaking and unsteady. The four-legged motion seemed rather familiar: wouldn't this be much easier, he thought, in wolf-form?

Well, no, it wouldn't. Not if he wanted Sirius alive.

Did he stand any chance at all? From long experience, he knew that the Change was coming on fast. How long did he have? Malfoy had been close to right: half an hour at best.

Remus reached Sirius, extending a trembling hand to touch him. Pulling closer, he shook a bony shoulder and moved his hand higher, across the left cheek, touching the bleeding cut that Malfoy's dagger had made. Tentatively, he looked for other injuries, his eyes sliding up and down his friend's body, his hands hovering above, shyly touching likely spots. Pausing, he took Sirius' hands in his.

"Sirius," he whispered hoarsely, chafing the hands. The sound of his own voice shocked him slightly: he had sounded on the verge of tears. He pulled himself together. "Sirius! Wake up!" he said evenly.

Well, he hadn't really thought _that_ would work, anyway.

It had never worked in his dreams.

His dreams... He knew this nightmare so well. The one where a loved one lies, defenceless, before the changing wolf. He'd had it his first night at Hogwarts, the Thursday before last, and numerous times in between... It was almost hard to believe that, this time, it was real.

How could they have been so careless? It was all his fault, he thought automatically.

Well, maybe not all, but some of it was sure to be.

How could he have let himself be captured so easily? Remus shook his head, remembering...  


  
  


Sirius turned up at Remus' house much as planned. Well, late, actually.

"Well, he hasn't changed in that, at least," Remus grinned to himself, hearing the rumble of the Shadow's engine grow louder. He made for the door with some anticipation, and opened it just as the rumble finally died away.

The bike was there, just as he remembered it. And, on it, that familiar figure, now turning towards him and starting to dismount.

But no, something was off here. He'd been expecting the figure to leap off the bike in traditional Sirius fashion, but this man seemed to be taking far more care. He seemed smaller, too: perhaps not shorter than Sirius, but certainly thinner.

The summer had been busy and he had seen his old friend only a handful of times, never alone but always in some meeting of wizards discussing the doings of Lord Voldemort. He couldn't recall a clear impression from those times; his head had been so full of movements and missions. 

Remus found himself reaching for his wand quite instinctively as the strange man moved towards him, raising his arm...

"Remus!" The man yelled, stretching a hand forward in greeting. "I know I'm late, but surely that's no reason to look so grim?"

It _was_ Sirius. How could he ever have thought otherwise? That laughing voice had dispelled all confusion. True, the visitor did look older and gaunter than the boy Remus remembered, but wasn't that what he should have expected? Especially after what he had seen in the Shrieking Shack...

Remus summoned a smile, and reached out to shake his friend's hand. Sirius was looking rather good, all things considered... That smile, the eyes...

Ah, the eyes. Remus' confusion returned. The eyes _were_ smiling, but not with that familiar self-satisfied twinkle. Sirius seemed to be searching his face, and looking for more than just mischief.

Remus stared back. Sirius' eyes reminded him of what he sometimes saw in the mirror at the end of a bad day.

A series of loud bangs interrupted Remus' melancholy train of thought. He felt grateful (and then instantly guilty about feeling grateful) that the motorcycle had started smoking and making those explosion sounds behind them. Sirius didn't seem concerned; he turned casually to the bike with a frown of minor irritation and took out his wand.

"Still getting the kinks out of her," he said, raising his wand and pointing to the shaking engine and the long exhaust pipes pouring out puffs of emerald green smoke. "I think Hagrid let some of his creatures nest in her. I knew I shouldn't have let him have the bike."

As Sirius threw spells at the motorbike, Remus mused that some things hadn't changed at all. Sirius had been forever tinkering with the Black Shadow once they'd left school, trying various charms to make it fly faster or do better tricks. And before the bike, there had been a series of brooms...

The green smoke was swirling around their ankles, rising in what seemed to Remus to be an ominous way. Sirius, however, was unconcerned as his wand threw sparks at the shivering black beast of a motorcycle.

"A bit like taming a dragon," Sirius called over his shoulder, echoing Remus' thought. 

Finally, the beast was tamed and the motorbike stopped smoking and shuddering.

"Really, Sirius. You propose to take Harry up on that thing?" Remus said. in a worried tone.

"You don't trust me?" Sirius turned to him with an all too familiar arch of the eyebrows. "It'll be fine by tomorrow. You worry too much, always have."

Remus had to agree that this was true. Well, _someone_ had to worry about these things. James had usually been the one to back him up when Sirius wanted to do something completely insane, but now... He'd have to muddle on by himself. 

"Yes, well... I thought you could put that thing away in my shed, but is it safe to..."

"Fine. It'll be fine," reassured Sirius as he grabbed the handlebars of the bike and followed Remus to a garden shed next to the little cottage. There was ample room for the motorcycle inside and the thing did seem to be behaving itself now.

"Er, normally I don't lock the shed," Remus hesitated as his friend closed the door on the silent Shadow. "But, do you think..."

"I'd like to see someone try to steal her!" retorted Sirius. "The starting spell by itself is tricky and then there's riding her. You worry too much, Moony."

Remus winced at the old name and at the familiar injunction. Okay. He would try to loosen up a bit more. He knew that life hadn't been treating Sirius very well for some time (although things were improving) and tonight they were supposed to have a chance to relax, perhaps roam under the full moon in the old way, if that were possible.

Turning away, Remus motioned his friend into the house.

"Um... Well, this is the main room," he said when they'd entered.

"I know. I've stayed here a few times while you were away, remember?" Sirius replied. "It looks quite different now... cleaner?"

Well, Remus _had_ felt strangely compelled to tidy up before his friend's visit. He'd even reshelved the open books that usually covered his desk.

"I know," he found himself staying. "Certainly much cleaner than the way you left it... Really, all those beer cans, and the dog-eared copies of 'Horse And Hound'..." Remus paused, realizing just how prissy he was sounding. "Anyway, I'll, um, get some tea. Do make yourself at home," he finished.

"Oh, I will," Sirius grinned, sitting gingerly down in a chair by the fire.

There had followed a long silence, which Remus just couldn't help thinking of as uncomfortable.

With a vague smile, Remus pulled the tea things together and carried the tray over to the fireplace. "Black, right?" he asked, handing his friend a cup.

"So flattered that you remember," Sirius said off-handedly. "And you... let me see, it's on the tip of my tongue... Lupin, right?"

Remus couldn't help groaning. "I must admit I'd forgotten your painful sense of humour," he said, pulling up a chair.

"As long as that's all you've forgotten," Sirius replied. Their eyes met for a moment, and a memory flashed through Remus' mind: Sirius, looking back at him, up through his messed-up hair. The look in those eyes had been similar: hungry, pleading for something...

Remus broke away looked up at the ceiling. He hadn't thought about all _that_ in years. He'd dreamt about it, occasionally, and woken up filled with a familiar longing. But then reality would reassert itself, usually by means of an uncomfortable, unfamiliar sleeping-place... And, besides, hadn't Remus Lupin become quite the expert at banishing uncomfortable memories? He'd dismissed it all as a boys' game, an adventure from a time when they had all cared much less about the consequences of their actions.

Still, he'd felt so alive back then, for once as fully alive when human as he did when running through the grounds of Hogwarts.

What inappropriate thoughts... Remus made a effort to calm down. When he finally stopped silently listing goblin rebellions, he became aware that the uncomfortable silence had returned.

"It'll be nice to see Harry again," Sirius tried a safe topic. "Although I still haven't quite got the hang of this godfathering thing."

"Mmm..." Remus was busy with the tea. "How _is_ Harry doing?"

"_Wonderful_," Sirius' grin broadened as he leaned forward in his chair. "You've heard about the tournament, of course?"

Remus nodded.

"No-one, kid or adult, could have handled it better," Sirius announced proudly. "Honestly, Remus, he's so much like James... It's almost as if..."

Remus shook his head, impatient with such sentimental wishful thinking.

"Yes, it is!" Sirius exclaimed. "It's almost as if the Marauders were all here again. Fighting old Voldie, you, me, and... Potter!"

"Much has changed in the last thirteen years," Remus said quietly. "I just can't..."

"I'll say much has changed!" Sirius' mouth turned down in a snarl. "Wormtail... We won't miss him. Although I _would_ dearly like to see him just the one last time. I'd like to..."

Looking at Sirius' contorted face, Remus felt a pang of worry. "Have some tea," he suggested, interrupting.

Sirius stopped, and took a sip without thinking. The he looked down at the teacup with a small smile. "Well, one thing hasn't changed," he said. "I do still tend to take your advice, Moony. _You_'ve changed, though," he looked up sharply.

"It's been thirteen years," Remus replied. "Life has treated me kindly compared to you, of course, but certainly I've changed. I'm no longer Moony the carefree Marauder."

He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. How could he make Sirius understand his hard-won emotional independence?

"I haven't changed in essentials, of course," he began.

"I'm glad to hear _that_," Sirius smirked, looking Remus up and down. "Can I see?"

"What?" Remus sat up in his chair. Trust Sirius to break his chain of thought! "Can't you just drop it, Sirius?" he asked, irritated.

The change in his friend's expression made him regret his words immediately. Sirius' whole body seemed to slouch as he sunk back into his chair, blinking uncertainly and looking anywhere but at Remus. "Sorry," he muttered.

The boy he remembered would never have reacted that way... But then had the boy he remembered ever even existed? Could _anyone_ be that invincible?

"No, _I'm_ sorry, Sirius," Remus sighed. "Time of the month, you know," he joked feebly. He was starting to suspect that he had been mistaken even about the tension in the air between them. That last comment - it could have been just an innocent, silly joke.

Under the pretext of fetching some biscuits, Remus got up and turned away from the fire and the familiar figure hunched up before it. Nothing about this meeting was going the way he'd imagined. He couldn't help thinking that this intimate little reunion had been a terrible mistake. Sirius seemed so painfully vulnerable, and Remus had no comfort to offer his friend.

Returning to the fire, he offered Sirius a biscuit instead.

Before Sirius could respond to the offer, a loud explosion noise, then another, came from outside. It sounded suspiciously like the Shadow. Sirius must have reached the same conclusion as he stood and said, "Thought I had that nailed down...I'd better go and see."

Remus went to the window and peered out into the yard. There was no-one in sight, but green smoke _was_ seeping out of the shed from under the door. Could he really let Sirius take Harry for a ride on the bike? With those worried thoughts in mind, he followed Sirius out the door and to the shed.

He expected to see the voluminous cloud of green smoke that rushed out at them when Sirius opened the door to the shed. He did not expect what came next.

"_Stupefy!_" came a loud incantation from behind the wall of green. Sirius crumpled on the ground in front of him. Before he had time to respond, magical cords shot out of the smoke, wrapping themselves tightly about his wrists and ankles.

Three masked and hooded shapes stepped out of the shed. Even through the thick green haze (which had not been caused by the motorcycle at all, he realized too late), he recognised them as Death Eaters.  


  
  


It had been stupid not to lock the shed, stupider to let Sirius walk into that ambush, alone. This was the Second Age Of Voldemort, after all. How could he have let personal confusion distract him from his duties? Even as a teenager, he'd been more responsible than this.

And now he was compounding his errors by dwelling on memories, instead of trying to find a way out of this mess.

Remus gave Sirius' shoulders one final, fruitless, shake, letting his arms trail off gently down his friend's arms. Standing up, he decided to take a good look at the prison.

The barn had no windows, and just the one door. The walls were made of sturdy brick; Remus walked all around, looking for chinks, but there were none. There was, however, some evidence of recent repairs, and Remus' increasingly sensitive nostrils picked up the scent of relatively fresh mortar. Malfoy had been very thorough, it seemed.

He hadn't spared any expense, either. The door was solid oak, and fitted with silver. Remus couldn't even examine the shiny lock without feeling instinctive terror. It was pointless, anyway: he remembered the heavy bar that one of the goons had lifted.

Walking away from the door with relief, Remus looked down at the dirt floor. Could he somehow dig through it, under and around the barn's foundations? He knelt down by a wall, reaching downwards...

_Aconite_! He recoiled instinctively, baring his teeth in disgust. They must have poured out cauldronfulls of a rather concentrated potion. He supposed he should feel flattered; in his solitary life, there had been few instances of people putting so much thought into preparing something just for him.

At any rate, no werewolf could dig his way out of here, not in any form. Perhaps a dog could, although it was doubtful if Padfoot had the necessary attention span...

It was a moot point anyway, as there would be no Padfoot. Turning his head, Remus cast a brief look at his friend. No change.

There had to be _something_ he could do... Wasn't it a law of nature that every slow, sadistic plan to kill the hero has at least one fatal flaw? 

Perhaps he could hide Sirius from his own wolf self? But the empty barn offered no visible sanctuary. With a sigh, Remus walked back towards Sirius and sank to his knees by his friend's side, listening to his shallow but regular breathing.

That Stupefy curse. It had been skillfully cast, no doubt, and timed so that there was a significant probability that Sirius _would_ wake before the werewolf was finished and so get a chance to appreciate Malfoy's inventiveness. It should be rather weak then, shouldn't it? Might he not be able to break it, even without a wand?

Children did things like this all the time, when first displaying their powers. Usually at times of intense emotion.

Well, Remus was no child, but this certainly was an emotional time.

He closed his eyes, focusing, emptying his mind of all distractions. He forgot about the barn, the moon, the silver and the aconite. The last thing he thought of was Sirius' final grin, and his question about Remus' essentials.

He opened his eyes, placing his hands against his patient's face. "_Enervate_," he whispered with confidence he did not entirely feel.

Nothing happened. He felt his fingers dig into Sirius' cheek, and forced himself to relax, to slow his breathing. What more could he try? The Animagi transfiguration itself was far too complex a spell.

Perhaps something simpler? Simple things often worked the best. "_Finite Incantatem_," he said, urgently.

Sirius stirred.

For a moment, Remus froze, watching his friend move his head and moan. Then he blinked: sudden tears were distorting the picture. Leaning closer forward, he cradled his friend's head in his hands.

"Sirius," he whispered, waiting for his friend's eyelids to flutter open.

But nothing more happened. And, sitting there, Remus slowly grew aware that nothing more would.

The counterspells had not been strong enough. And he knew well that he did not have the energy to try again: he felt the Change pulling on him, draining all that was human.

Remus couldn't help himself: he threw back his head and moaned, or rather howled softly. That single moment of hope had destroyed all his self-control. He'd been so sure that he had found contentment in his lonely, independent life without the Marauders, without Sirius to brighten it with his absurdities.

But now he felt as if the old loyalties had never really left him. Now Sirius was here, about to be lost to him for the second, final, time, and Remus knew that the grief would swallow him up, overflowing all his emotional barriers.

Not because of the guilt he would feel at what he was about to do, but because of the knowledge that he had wasted and then destroyed his chance to renew the old friendship.

Remus let Sirius' head down, gently, and tried to contain his growing panic.

What will happen, he wondered morbidly. Will I at least kill him quickly?

Or will I, perhaps, just bite him?

The idea was an unexpected one. His wolf self was usually too overcome by bloodlust to think about creating companions for himself. But this was Sirius... Remus imagined having Sirius for a werewolf friend, running through the woods not with Padfoot (that overgrown puppy) but with an equal companion. Pure joy, pure pleasure: would it be anything like having Sirius for a lover?

At that image, guilt returned, and with it self-control. Remus leaned over Sirius for one last time, desperately trying to impress his mind with the idea that this one should _not_ be killed. Perhaps the wolf would hear him, and understand.

A sudden shudder passed through Remus. The Change was beginning.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," he whispered..

Remus got up, and walked away, absurdly hoping to delay the attack by putting some distance between himself and his victim. As he removed his robe and tossed it away, he was struck by a further absurdity. Surely it was stupid to worry about tearing one's robe, when you may be about to tear your best friend...

He paused, realizing that a braver man than he might have tried to kill himself. Was there still time? But there were no means... The wall, perhaps? Could he bash his head against it?

At that very moment, he heard a low wolf-whistle.

He spun around.

Sirius, obviously awake, was suddenly grinning up at him.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Remus. You look great: honestly haven't changed in essentials at all."

As a man, Remus knew he should feel both relieved and exasperated. A wolf, however, is not so complicated. As the shudders of the Change took over his body, he felt a growing anger.

"How long have you..." he wanted to ask, but all that came out was a hideous growl which was answered by the sharp, insistent barking of a very large black dog.


	2. Sirius

Here's part II of this little Remus/Sirius slash fic. If you are disturbed by the idea of those two getting it on, you might not want to read it... although there is no real heavy action in this chapter, if you know what we mean.  
  
A brief note: One of our reviewers has implied that this series is the work of a single individual, an individual so sick and twisted that they feel the need to refer to themselves as "a vampire committee." This is simply untrue. This particular chapter, for example, was written by three people - three completely separate vampires, that is.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Padfoot stopped his series of gleeful barks as the wolf sprung on him, teeth bared. In an instant they were rolling on the ground, fangs clashing near each other's throats, Padfoot realizing that his every move was a step too slow. How had he grown so out of practice at canine battle? He'd thought that Doberman in Hogsmeade had been keeping him in shape!

It was only in a moment of relative calm, when he managed to pull his neck out of Moony's mouth and back up into the corner, that he realized it was not he who had changed. As much as the human Remus was more Remus than ever--if only because the absent-minded professor act was rather disconcerting in a 12-year-old--so was Moony more of a wolf, his attitude as he sat back on his haunches frankly imperious. He howled, not the unpracticed playful cry of their schooldays but a long, modulated message that Padfoot knew should speak volumes.

With no time to wonder what Remus had been up to these past thirteen years, the dog tried desperately to read his companion's language. Each swivel of his pointy ear, each flick of his tail, called for a response that Padfoot's instincts wouldn't help him with. He barked, which made Moony lower his tail; then he tried a howl, which evoked an unmistakable curl of his lip to show just who had bigger canines. The wolf pounced again, grasping the dog's shoulder in an expert grab and wrestling him to the floor.

As much intellectually as anything, Padfoot took the posture of a playful puppy--he rolled on his back, put his front paws up, and lolled his tongue. The wolf stepped back, seemed to think, and then flung himself at Padfoot again.

But this time it was play. Moony barked, a rare but familiar sound, one he used to use to humor Padfoot--and, the dog suddenly remembered, to indicate when he found something interesting. It meant "Who are you?" and Padfoot showed him who he was, grabbing the nape of the wolf's neck as he had done hundreds of times before. He didn't bite deep enough to hurt, and Moony shook him off and ran, looking back over his shoulder as if hoping he would follow.

They played this game in the small space for hours, trading top dog position, slobbering on each other's necks, digging holes in the earth. Padfoot never relaxed, nor did he dare vocalize--and each mistake of his body language would cause Moony to sit back, ears forward and brow furrowed in thought. Sometimes he returned to the game, but more often than not he'd fly into the rage of a dominant animal whose territory has been invaded. There was something he expected, something missing in their communication that no Animagus or even real dog could provide. Padfoot's floppy ears didn't swivel in the right way, and his curly tail wouldn't stand straight up, so that he was like a Muggle in Hogsmeade asking for the nearest McDonald's.

Moony's rages didn't bother the dog so much as his effortless expertise, the way he didn't waste a moment in finding Padfoot's most vulnerable spots. If the dog backed up, he'd get his throat; if he turned around, his heels; if he crouched, his face. He seemed tireless, and Padfoot began to wonder how long he could keep this up.

He had just clamped the wolf's muzzle in his jaws to avoid another attack when the sky suddenly lightened, and he got a glimpse of feral anger and confusion in Moony's yellow eyes just before he crumpled to the floor.

Padfoot reacted instinctively. His friend and playmate had just collapsed, as if ill; the change in species was, for now, immaterial. He whimpered a bit, and prodded Remus with a paw, sniffing at his wounds. He then proceeded to lick at the blood staining his friend's face.

The licking went on for a bit, while the faint flicker of an idea materialized in the back of Padfoot's faithful mind. His human side was reasserting itself, suggesting that this would be a _really_ good time to Change back.

So he did. Padfoot's fur disappeared in an instant, revealing Sirius Black.

Sirius, balancing on unsteady limbs, felt a bit odd when he realized he was licking Remus' face. It was, however, a good sort of odd. Anyway, he told himself, it could have been much worse: he could have been sniffing his friend's butt, or something.

Drawing back a little, he took a careful look at Remus. Apart from some superficial scratches, he could see no major damage, so he decided that Remus was just in his usual post-werewolf state. If Sirius recalled the post-werewolf state correctly, that is; quite a bit of time had passed since he had seen it last.

The question was, why was he seeing it now? Or rather, why _on earth_ was he seeing it while trapped in some under-furnished out-building? Sirius lifted Remus' head into his lap, waiting for his friend to wake, and then turned his attention inward, towards his recent memories...

  
  
  


He could certainly remember riding his bike high over the English countryside, a witless smile plastered on his face in the anticipation of seeing Remus again. Remus! Yay! They had met a few times over the summer, of course, but only at solemn, secretive meetings, where Remus had looked stressed and tired. Sirius was looking forward to spending some relaxing quality time with his old friend, both on four legs and on two. He even howled out a few times, just for practice, as he raced over the fields and hedgerows.

At last, he touched down in the lane outside Remus' cottage. He knew this cottage well, by now, having used it as a hideout on several occasions. A few occasions more than strictly necessary, if truth be told: he had enjoyed the idea of inhabiting his friend's rooms, and there had always been at least a slim hope of Remus returning home unexpectedly for an impromptu reunion.

Oh, well, Sirius would get his reunion now. He pulled up to the house and let the Shadow's engine wind down, gently so as not to upset the bike.

He was still on the bike when he noticed Remus' slender form appear on the porch.

Odd. Remus wasn't looking particularly welcoming: he seemed to be frowning at Sirius as if at a stranger.

Well, Sirius _was_ rather late. He hadn't expected the extra hour or two to matter, not on top of those thirteen years, but still, perhaps a light-hearted apology was called for?

"Remus!" he yelled. "I know I'm late, but surely that's no reason to look so grim?"

Remus seemed to rally a bit at this: he even held out his hand, a bit stiffly.

Sirius walked up and took the hand, feeling a bit awkward at all this formality. It seemed to contrast quite sharply with that spontaneous hug in the Shack. He tried for a firm, yet casual, handshake, smiling into Remus' eyes.

Now, that was really strange. Remus' answering gaze was unsettled, confused. Sirius frowned slightly, searching his friend's face. Was something wrong?

His thoughtful concentration was suddenly broken by a familiar series of bangs. The Shadow! Sirius rushed towards his bike, feeling oddly pleased. His beloved Shadow, though temperamental, was never really _confusing_. It misbehaved, you fixed it: it didn't have layer upon layer of longing and fear, like the people whose screams he had heard in Azkaban. It didn't look at Sirius quizzically, the way Remus had just done.

Sirius _loved_ that bike.

In fact, he had always wondered if Remus might feel mildly jealous...

What an unworthy thought that was! He dismissed it, took out his wand, and examined the motorbike with care. "Still getting the kinks out of her," he explained over his shoulder. "I think Hagrid let some of his creatures nest in her. I knew I shouldn't have let him have the bike."

Well, actually, he hadn't much cared at the time, one way or another. Not after finding... Harry.

Growling at his own morbid thoughts, he focused on the sparks spraying out of the Shadow's engine. "A bit like taming a dragon," he laughed, twirling his wand in his fingers.

In no time at all, the bike had been tamed, leaving Sirius feeling pretty pleased with himself. Sirius Black, the magical mechanic: he still had what it took. His pride died away, however, when Remus spoke. "Really, Sirius. You propose to take Harry up on that thing?" he asked, incredulously.

For a moment, Sirius felt a little defensive. But then he remembered that Remus had _always_ been that way, looking out for people at all times (even, sometimes, at moments of, er, extreme excitement.) He looked back towards his friend with an arch smile.

"You don't trust me?" he asked. "It'll be fine by tomorrow. You worry too much, always have."

True to form, Remus proceeded to worry about where the bike should be parked, in spite of Sirius' certainty that attempting to steal her would be tantamount to suicide. They eventually put it in the unlocked shed, and set off for the house, Sirius thinking that a night running under the stars (and moon) was exactly what the overly-worried Remus needed.

They walked into the main room.

"Um... Well, this is the main room," Remus said feebly, and then started to complain about the mess Sirius had left there after his visits.

As long as he doesn't hit me with a rolled-up newspaper, Sirius thought, this is actually mildly pleasant. Nobody had ever complained about the mess down in Azkaban.

Remus eventually departed to fetch some tea, inviting Sirius to make himself at home.

"Oh, I will," Sirius grinned, lowering himself into a fireside chair. After all, he'd felt quite at home here on his solo visits: and he'd even begun to think of this as a home base of sorts on his longer journeys. He just wished that he had found an appropriate way to repay his friend. Well, he _had_ tried to leave him little tokens of appreciation, like beer in the fridge, but Remus had always left that undrunk.

He hadn't given the mess too much thought. Perhaps he had been rather rude after all; Azkaban had made him forget almost all his manners, and, let's face it, he'd never been strong on etiquette in the first place. Had Remus been truly upset?

Or was Remus, Sirius mused, watching his friend lean over the tea, just being rather formal and remote? Had he completely slipped out of the habit of their friendship? Perhaps a joke would help his slip back in.

No sooner had he decided this, than Remus provided him with the perfect opening. "Black, right?" he asked, handing Sirius a cup of Earl Grey.

Sirius smiled to himself. "So flattered that you remember," he said. "And you... let me see, it's on the tip of my tongue... Lupin, right?"

He was rewarded with a half-smile and a groan. "I must admit I'd forgotten your painful sense of humour," Remus said, dropping down into a nearby chair.

They were close now, their eyes at the same level. Their gazes met, and Sirius felt himself flushing. "As long as that's all you've forgotten," he found himself saying.

He saw Remus' pupils widen. There it was, surely - a spark of life, of recognition. He'd seen those eyes widen that way quite frequently, all those years back, usually as a result of one of his inappropriate jokes or suggestions...

Well, actually, the suggestions had been quite appropriate, all things considered. There had been that time, at James' wedding, when Sirius the best man had publicly asked Remus the usher for help with his suddenly ill-fitting trousers. Fully appropriate considering that it had been Remus' (unintentional) fault. And also very amusing, even if nothing had, er, come of it, at the time.

It was only later, after they had stuffed the boggart under the newlyweds' new bed, and after Remus had removed the Wilting Curse Sirius had placed on James, that the two of them had been able to take proper revenge on each other. The too-tight-trousers syndrome had proved to be very much a communicable disease, and their remedies had resulted in both of them losing the security deposit on their rented dress robes.

Sirius could still recall the face the rental wizard had made when examining some of the rips. He could also recall the face Remus had made when he realized that Sirius had figured out how to cast an Anti-Wilting Curse on himself.

Although, really, it hadn't been half as impressive as the time he'd tried the Engorgement Charm.

Was Remus remembering all this, too? Sirius glanced over at his friend's face, cooly neutral, enlivened only by the play of firelit shadows. No, he decided: Remus had drawn back, and was now lost in his own, tamer, thoughts.

It was too bad, Sirius decided, because Remus was looking so very good to him at that moment. He had aged, of course, but somehow the main result of this was to make him look even more like Remus, and that could only be an improvement as far as Sirius was concerned. And the most irritating thing was that Remus was clearly completely unaware of the effect he could have on lesser mortals, because otherwise he would not be holding his head slightly askew in that insanely _attractive_ way.

Really, it was too bad that Remus had grown so formal and forgetful. Sirius felt a strange emptiness in his chest, and decided to change the subject.

"It'll be nice to see Harry again," he tried a safe topic. "Although I still haven't quite got the hang of this godfathering thing."

They talked about Harry for a while, and Sirius remembered James, another friend he'd loved (although differently, in more, well, conventional fashion.)

"Honestly, Remus, Harry's so much like James..." he confided, suddenly. "It's almost as if..."

Remus shook his head, rejecting the past.

"Yes, it is!" Sirius exclaimed, rejecting the rejection. "It's almost as if the Marauders were all here again. Fighting old Voldie, you, me, and... Potter!"

"Much has changed in the last thirteen years," Remus said quietly. "I just can't..."

Looking at his friend's tired face, Sirius felt a knot of rage grow within his chest. "I'll say much has changed!" he snarled. "Wormtail... We won't miss him. Although I _would_ dearly like to see him just the one last time," he continued, thinking of all the revenge scenarios he'd imagined over the last few years. "I'd like to..."

Remus clearly didn't approve. "Have some tea," he suggested, interrupting.

Sirius found himself drinking obediently. His rage faded, replaced by an inner amusement. "Well, one thing hasn't changed," he said. "I do still tend to take your advice, Moony."

He lifted his eyes from his teacup and considered his friend. Remus had always been one of the very few people he would ever listen to, in bed or out of it. And one of the even fewer people whose presence he had found consistently soothing. So why did he now feel so on edge? There was one possible explanation...

"_You_'ve changed, though," he announced. It felt like an accusation.

"It's been thirteen years," Remus replied, unfazed. "Life has treated me kindly compared to you, of course, but certainly I've changed. I'm no longer Moony the carefree Marauder."

Oh, no, Sirius sighed to himself, he's getting all _maudlin_ again!

After a moment's reflection, the thought cheered him. Perhaps this _was_ the old Remus, just in one of his less sociable moods. In that case, he needed to lighten up. Perhaps Sirius could help.

Remus, meanwhile, was still following his melancholy train of thought. "I haven't changed in essentials, of course," he began.

That was too good to pass up."I'm glad to hear _that_," Sirius smirked, looking Remus up and down. "Can I see?"

"What?" Remus sat up in his chair. "Can't you just drop it, Sirius?" he asked.

His irritated gaze hit Sirius like a blasting curse. Remus had understood the joke only too well: he clearly did remember quite a bit. He was, probably, equally well aware of Sirius' own longings. His formal attitude was, then, nothing less than a rejection of the past, as well as of any future flirtation.

In his better days, a rejection would have made Sirius feel angry, and disdainful of the rejector's bad taste, but now... now he could only feel depressed. He had a vague suspicion that he had just screwed up the whole reunion with his silly needs. He looked away, muttering an apology.

"No, _I'm_ sorry, Sirius," he heard Remus reply. "Time of the month, you know."

Sirius nodded at the familiar joke, and watched his friend rise and walk off towards the tea-tray. Confused, and suddenly tired, he considered turning into his dog self an hour or two early. Well, it did make sense. Padfoot was almost guaranteed to be less attracted to Remus than Sirius, and absolutely guaranteed to care less if Remus (or Remus' leg) rejected his advances.

Remus, meanwhile, returned with some biscuits. For a moment there, Sirius thought that maybe they were thinking alike, but he soon realized that they weren't dog biscuits, after all.

Just as he was searching the biscuits for hidden meaning, he heard a series of sudden, familiar bangs. Grateful to the Shadow for yet another timely interruption, he stood up slowly and said, "Thought I had that nailed down...I'd better go and see."

He had walked out quite quickly, genuinely puzzled by the sounds. The last thing he remembered was opening the shed door to be confronted with a slightly off-colour cloud of green smoke, and hearing the word _Stupe_...

  
  
  


Sirius wondered now: what had that thing in the shed been? Something to do with Voldemort, no doubt, he decided. Which would also explain why the two of them were now locked in a building, with rope burns on their arms.

Why were they free, and guardless? Had they done something to the guard during the night? Sirius could not remember doing anything quite that much fun.

He suddenly remembered something else, though: Remus Changing, wild with worry for his unconscious friend. Somebody out there had wanted Sirius to come to a rather nasty end involving a werewolf's teeth; somebody out there had a very twisted mind. But then Sirius supposed he had known _that_ all along.

Pushing aside his memory of the outraged naked Remus for future enjoyment, Sirius reached the unpleasant conclusion that the Twisted Mind might be turning up pretty soon to see how their Twisted Plan had worked out. And the resulting encounter would not be pretty. Especially not if Remus remained unconscious. Perhaps he could speed the waking process? Sirius looked down at his friend and shook him, none too gently.

"Come on, Moony, wake up," he said, slapping Remus' cheek lightly. "We've got company coming."

Remus, however, did not respond.

Damn, Sirius thought, this is all my fault. Me and my poor impulse control, rushing out to the Shadow like that. And now we're stuck here, injured and wandless - damn, how I wish for a nice, big wand. I wonder if, unarmed, I'll be of any use at all when the jailers appear?

"Do you think I'll be of any use when our jailers appear?" he asked Remus. "Who are they, anyway, and what do they plan to do with you? Kill you?"

Remus was still non-responsive, and Sirius sighed and pulled him up closer. Nobody, nobody would be killing Remus Lupin while Sirius Black still lived. Now that he was thinking about it, he realized that he would gladly die protecting Remus, more gladly that he would die for Harry, Dumbledore, for their shared cause...

"Hah, Moony," he said, "Let's see you act all formal with me after I die trying to protect you."

Remus, again, showed no signs of having heard or understood this. Sirius was, for once, rather glad.

Which reminded him of the shameful pleasure he himself had felt earlier, upon waking to see his friend's very un-Remus-like distress. He had always enjoyed watching Remus lose some of his reserve. Fervently wishing that he might have further opportunities to observe Remus under any circumstances at all, he stared down at his friend. Drinking in every detail, just in case...

Perhaps he could shock Remus back to life somehow? Sirius leaned down towards his friend's ear. "Remus, you're naked, and I'm staring at you," he said.

No reaction, not from Remus at least. Sirius himself did feel slightly comforted by his friend's proximity. For a moment, he just looked at Remus and smiled. And, then, poor impulse control struck again: he leaned even closer forward, and kissed him.

He could remember kissing Remus that same way before, when bored on lazy mornings. It had usually worked, back then.

It worked now. Remus' eyes popped open.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
What will happen next? Will our heroes manage to escape, stop Lucius, and rekindle the old flame? Read part III, chock-full of magical duels and, finally, wand envy, to find out.  
  



	3. Duels

Nobody can possibly call this installment Passion Without Plot: there's so much plot that passion is reduced mostly to innuendo. (Such as enough wand jokes to satisfy just about anyone, we hope.) Still, a relationship between Remus and Sirius _is_ heavily suggested, and if such a thing disturbs you, don't bother with the fic, just flame us.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Remus' eyes popped open.

For a moment, his mind was blank. He was vaguely aware that he was in danger, and also that something quite wonderful had just happened, but beyond that all was fog and confusion.

Looking around warily, he saw the barn; and he remembered Malfoy's plan. The morning air, cold against his skin, reminded him that he was naked; and he remembered the full moon. At the same time, the warmth of Sirius' body, driving away some of the morning chill, reminded him of the kiss; and he remembered much, from the night that had just passed to all those nights (and days) years ago. And, as he remembered, his understanding of the current situation grew - and so did his emotional confusion.

Remus looked up at Sirius.

Sirius was staring back at him, with concern and curiosity. Was he perhaps worried that he might get slapped for his efforts? In his half-awake daze, Remus imagined reaching up towards Sirius' face. Not to slap it - to caress it. A desire to return that kiss flashed across his mind and swept through his body, suddenly reminding him of just how completely and revealingly naked he was.

Gathering his strength, Remus moved his weight onto his own hands and shifted away from Sirius. He glanced around, looking for his clothes.

His friend seemed to understand. He was up in no time, striding across the room purposefully to reach the discarded robe. He returned, and offered it to Remus almost shyly.

"Thanks," Remus said, happy to find his voice steady. He threw the robe over his head, discovering to his satisfaction that it hadn't been chewed up too badly. "Now," he continued, all businesslike. "you're probably wondering why we're here. It's Malfoy's doing; He knows of your plan to visit Harry, and plans to impersonate you using Polyjuice Potion. He expects me to have killed you by now, and his goons will be arriving here soon to finish me off. Ambushing them could be our best chance to escape."

Sirius listened to all this carefully, drawing his breath in at the mention of Harry's name. "Bastards," he barked out at last, keeping the insult uncharacteristically short and uncomplicated. "I can't wait to get my hands on them. They'll regret scheming against Harry, just as they will regret mistreating you in this way." He growled and turned towards Remus, his snarl turning into a sidelong grin. "Still, isn't it fortunate," he continued, "that I haven't lost my touch, and was still able to wake you."

Remus couldn't think of a good reply to that. "You get an A for creativity, Sirius, but get your mind out of the gutter and think of Harry!" didn't seem right, somehow. He was just about to frown disapprovingly when his ears picked up the sound of approaching footsteps and then rattling of the heavy metal bar outside. He turned to face the door, tensing.

Sirius interpreted his motion correctly. The enemy was approaching! The two friends' eyes met as both thought out a possible plan of action.

"I'll hide," Sirius mouthed, pointing up at the rafters.

"I'll stay," Remus replied, slumping down onto the floor.

With a final exchange of nods, they put this vague plan into practice; and no sooner had Sirius disappeared up among the rafters than the door rattled and opened. The two tall Death Eaters walked in: Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's helpers. Remus, his eyes shut, identified them by smell, and even Sirius, who hadn't seen them for years, had no trouble recognizing them from their conversation.

"There's only one of them!" he heard Crabbe-or-Goyle exclaim.

Goyle-or-Crabbe remained silent, thinking. Remus could clearly smell his sweat, forced out by the effort this unusual activity required.

"There used to be two," Crabbe-or-Goyle, meanwhile, obviously preferred thinking aloud. "Meaning, one is missing."

"Yes," the philosophical Goyle-Or-Crabbe replied in superior tones. "But that one there's the wolf, see? He must have gobbled the other one right up."

This undeniably made a lot of sense: all that silent contemplation had not been in vain. The two beefy men glanced at Remus warily, unwilling to approach such a formidable creature.

The formidable creature, stretched out on the floor, started to feel almost sorry for them. Remus' teacher instincts kicked in, and he found himself wishing that he could put the two of them in some sort of remedial class for evil minions.

"We have to kill him," Crabbe-or-Goyle said at last, uncertainly, "Else Mr. Malfoy will be unhappy."

Neither of them moved as they silently weight their options: werewolf vs. Lucius.

"We _have_ to," Crabbe-or-Goyle continued, pleadingly. "Mr Malfoy might even get _sarcastic_."

"I know _that_," Goyle-Or-Crabbe replied shortly. "I'm just thinking, and I figure one of us should go on with the dagger, and I should just stand here and guard the door."

"So who kills him with the dagger?" Crabbe-or-Goyle asked in confusion. "Me!" he realized after a while. "Oh, no!"

"Come on, you've got the easy part," Goyle-Or-Crabbe cajoled. "I figure this here werewolf will make straight for the door when he wakes. He ate last night, see?" he finished meaningfully.

Crabbe-or-Goyle saw, and nodded wisely. "Yeah, you're right. He'll probably run straight for the privy, after eating that guy Black, clothes and all."

Up in the rafters, Sirius felt indignant at the idea that eating him would have given anyone indigestion. Remus, down below, felt a pang of hunger; he hadn't eaten a thing since last night's insubstantial biscuit. The Death Eaters, meanwhile, were both now equally satisfied that they were getting the better deal. So, they separated as planned. One moved towards Remus saying "Shh, nice werewolf, sleep," while the other stood guard at the door, holding his wand at the ready.

Sirius paused for a moment to admire the enormous shiny wand before dropping silently onto the guard's back.

The guard was immensely confused. He'd just been about to suggest singing the wolf a lullaby, and now suddenly a new and separate threat had appeared from nowhere, riding his shoulders, grabbing at his wand, and pulling his fancy hat over his eyes. He roared with fear.

His partner turned at that, and saw an odd human pyramid staggering about near the wide-open door. What werewolf trick was this? His jaw dropped.

Remus, meanwhile, took the sound as a cue to attack. He sat up and snarled at his approaching opponent, preparing to jump. The silver dagger, however, made him sit back on his haunches, hair standing on end in indescribable disgust. He'd sooner scratch out his eyes than jump at _that_.

Sirius, still engaged in Death Eater rodeo, seemed to sense his friend's predicament. Waving his newly captive wand, he shouted out "_Accio Dagger_!" This had the desired effect. The dagger flew out into Sirius' outstretched hand... well, not quite. It seemed to accelerate and swerve just before reaching him, hitting his mount on the forehead with great force. Sirius jumped off gracefully just seconds before the Death Eater toppled to the ground, knocked out cold.

At the same moment, Remus finally leapt forward, knocking his would-be killer over. A floor-level scuffle ensued, with Remus' wrestling prowess matched against his opponent's bulk, and dust rose off the dirt floor.

Sirius approached the dust cloud slowly, holding out his wand. He briefly considered cursing the remaining Death Eater, but decided that it was just too hard to curse people when they are grappling in close quarters with your close friend... Mmmm... For a moment there, Sirius wished himself in the enemy's place, remembering a certain camping adventure.

He shook these unproductive thoughts off, quickly. Reminding himself that Remus could not be in the best of shape at that moment, he pocketed the huge wand and jumped into the fray, shoving his friend aside.

Remus rolled away a little and sprang to his feet, brandishing an equally impressive wand. "Surrender!" he shouted. "Surrender, or I'll curse you!"

"I _do_ surrender!" the Death Eater shouted. He'd noticed his partner's prone form, and was really quite certain that Things Were Going Badly. "I surrender! Stop it, stop it!"

The last was directed at Sirius, who was currently attempting to bite off his large, hairy ear.

"He surrenders, Sirius," Remus said calmly. "Leave him alone."

"But they were going to kill you, Moony!" Sirius countered. Except that it sounded more like "Mut ey were oin' oo killoo, Moony!", his mouth being full of ear. Gagging slightly, he released it. "Oh, all right," he said, and stood up.

Remus shook out his new wand and cast a tying-up spell on their fallen foes. He had not fully realized just how tired he was; his first attempt merely tied their untidy shoelaces ("Gee, thanks," the conscious goon commented gratefully.) On his second and third tries, however, he finally managed to produce a satisfying quantity of thin cords. After checking to see that they did not cut off anyone's circulation, he stepped back to admire his handiwork.

"Very nice," Sirius nodded warmly. "Hey, that was fun, wasn't it? The boys of Gryffindor fight as well as ever."

Remus smiled back. It _had_ been rather exhilarating. He stood back to survey the scene.

The two Death Eaters struggled on the floor of the barn, trussed at the wrists and ankles in the same way he and Sirius had been less than twelve hours before. Sirius, of course, stood over them, gloating with that grin frequently seen in the aftermath of duels or...

Remus coughed and said, "Let's leave them here for now. We can send someone along to get them later. I'm more worried about Malfoy finishing the potion."

"Ah, yes," Sirius said, addressing the two prisoners, "where is your boss, mmmm?"

When the question was met with stony silence, Sirius rolled up his sleeves and raised the borrowed wand significantly. Remus laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Come on, Moony," he grumbled, "just a little spot of torture? Er, how about this?"

Before Remus could stop him, Sirius cried "_Rictusempra!_" and the feet of the two men on the floor began to twitch. The Death Eaters both sniggered, then giggled, then laughed hysterically until tears were leaking from their eyes.

"A Tickling Charm, that's all," shrugged Sirius. Turning his attention to the shrieking Death Eaters, he said, "Where's Malfoy?"

"F-f-finishing potion," stammered one of them through a fit of giggling, "g-g-going to take the motorbike..."

With a loud snort and a wave of the wand, Sirius ended the charm. "I'd like to see Malfoy try! We just have to wait for the Shadow to kill him, then."

Remus couldn't help but feel that this was not much of a PLAN, and he said so. "We need to have a bit more on the ball than that to catch Malfoy before he impersonates you."

Sirius scowled at him in mock disgust. Remus felt slightly irritated in return. They weren't eighteen year-olds playing at dueling, after all, but thirty-somethings who had just endured a long, rough night. Perhaps Sirius could bounce back from his injuries at Malfoy's hands and from a night spent barking at him, but Remus was exhausted as always after the Change.

"OK. A plan. Right." Sirius grinned, undaunted. "We'll become Death Eaters ourselves, then, shall we?"

With a wave of his wand, Sirius made the black robes and masks of the Death Eaters vanish, leaving the two large beefy men shivering in their underwear on the floor. The boxers with pink kittens were amusing, but the tiger-striped thong... Sirius had seen better and was quite vocal about expressing it.

Then there was the matter of the robes which weren't supposed to vanish entirely.

"They should be around here somewhere," grumbled Sirius. "The clothes are supposed to reappear close by. Remember the time I worked this charm on Snape at the Hallowe'en Feast?"

Remus did remember. He could also recall Sirius using that spell on other occasions, usually in more private settings. Although their had been that time in that cul-de-sac off Diagon Alley...

He shrugged his shoulders, and led the way out of the barn.

Sirius was still going on about the condition of Snape's Halloween drawers as they emerged into the morning sunlight. Evidence of the robes did turn up, quite quickly: one was draped over a bush just outside and the other had been transformed into a large pile of (black) daisies.

"Wonder what's wrong with this wand," mused Sirius as he surveyed the pile of flowers. "They say that the wand matches the owner, so do you suppose that the wand of a stupid git like that...?" Still pondering, he tried flexing the wand, sending a spray of sparks out of the end. "Hmmm. Seventeen inches, ebony... wonder what it's got inside? A bit stiffer than I'm used to, but I always could do good work with a stiff wand, don't you think?"

"Sirius!" Remus said sharply. "Let's forget the wand jokes, shall we?"

"Aw, Moony. You're just sore because you got the sixteen-inch wand."

Remus thought this was a hopeless battle, so, instead of replying, he picked up the robe and tossed it to Sirius. It was probably just as well that the other robe hadn't survived the charm gone awry. Both of their captives looked quite tall. Sirius' six foot one inch frame would seem plausible draped in the black Death Eater's robe, but Remus would look suspicious.

"Aha," cried Sirius after he had put on the black robe and mask, "now you are my prisoner! I've always wanted to tie you up, Moony. You might like it, you know."

Ignoring that, too, Remus squinted into the sun, now rising above the trees. They were not far from his cottage. He had never given the old barn, their prison for the night, a second thought during the times he'd passed it by. But Malfoy had been planning for some time to trap him, that much seemed obvious. 

He marveled again that someone was willing to go to that much trouble to eliminate him. In the old days, Sirius and James had been the main targets of Voldemort's fury. Well, things changed.

"We're not far," Remus said crisply and led off through the hay field next to the barn. This route would take them through the old orchard the lay behind his cottage, perhaps even provide a bit of cover.

As they walked along, Sirius' mind turned, once again, to more important things.

"Why do you suppose the two Idiot Twins need such impressive wands, anyway? Do you think they're trying to, um, compensate for something?" he asked Remus conversationally. "They should be - that thong might have left little to the imagination, but it also seemed to conceal very little, if you know what I mean."

"I didn't look," Remus sighed resignedly. "But why not give them the benefit of the doubt? It was pretty cold in there, wasn't it?"

"Didn't seem to affect _you_, though." Sirius muttered.

"Oh, do drop it, Padfoot," Remus replied, poker-faced. "You should know by now that size isn't everything... And that sometimes a wand is just a wand."

At this point, Sirius decided that he'd just about run out of wand cliches, so he moved onto the topic of What I Will Do To Malfoy, in which wands played only a small (but crucial) part.

Listening to his friend's excited chatter, punctuated with the occasional illustrating hand gesture, Remus thought that it might almost have been an adventure from the old days. At Hogwarts their adventures had been mere pranks (some of them quite involved), but after school the missions had turned more deadly. Still, Sirius never failed to find the humour in any situation, no matter if they were hurtling curses at Death Eaters or subduing dragons.

At the margin of the orchard, Remus motioned for Sirius to halt. Through the trees he could see the kitchen of his cottage; movement in the windows told him that there was someone inside. Good. They were not too late.

"I'll be your prisoner until we get inside, right? I'll hide my wand until then." Remus said distractedly, peering through the branches.

"Pity I shan't hide mine," replied Sirius coming up behind him and poking him in the back playfully with his own wand. "You were always quite good at playing _Find the Wand_."

Just like old times, Remus mused and this time he laughed. There was definitely something to be said for keeping your sense of humour in the face of danger.

  
  


__"What is it? Why are you bringing that..._thing_ in here?" hissed Lucius Malfoy angrily. He looked up from the large book he'd been reading as they entered the kitchen, his wand poised dangerously. The kitchen was not large. Malfoy stood at one end, a cauldron full of thick, bubbling liquid next to him. Remus and Sirius stood at the other end, just inside the door and not more than ten feet away.

"I have something to say to you, Malfoy," Remus announced coldly.

"Come to beg for your life, werewolf?" sneered Malfoy, with a tone which said that he would enjoy the begging very much.

"Not at all," replied Remus. He gave a small nod and Sirius moved away from him slightly.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

At once Malfoy's wand shot straight up into the air and pinged loudly on a pot hanging on a rack suspended from the ceiling. The wand was _supposed_ to fly into the hand of the wizard casting the spell, but instead it took a more lazy arc downward. Malfoy snatched at it and caught it on the second try. 

As Sirius pulled off his mask, he wondered again about these borrowed wands. Did stupid people just have stupid wands or was there some sort of devious Security Spell at work? He didn't have time for further reflection, as Malfoy began throwing curses at them.

Defending against Malfoy's spells whilst trying to make their wands work properly was difficult enough without the added problem of lack of sleep (and the whole Werewolf Thing in Remus' case). Thus, the magical duel proved much more difficult than in the old days. 

The Petrificus spell which Remus hurled at Malfoy merely gave him a leg cramp. Sirius' attempt to hurl a fireball (usually one of his better creations), resulted in Malfoy being covered in green slime. The slime was amusing, but it didn't slow the Death Eater down overmuch.

And their opponent had gotten some rest during the night. That was clear from the ferocious strength of his spells. 

"Blast these wands," panted Sirius as they dodged yet another curse from Malfoy. He managed to subdue the firebreathing lizard which Malfoy had sent at him by turning it into a toothless crocodile. Not his best work, certainly.

"Sirius," Remus murmured, getting as close as he could while avoiding the jet of blue flame shooting across the kitchen, "I think I see our wands under his Potion book. Can you distract him? I'll try to grab them."

Sirius nodded even as Remus was forced to jump away, crumpling on the floor. Was Remus really injured or was this part of his plan? Sirius didn't have time to work that out.

"And how _is_ Narcissa?" he called out, stepping away from Remus as much as he could in the tiny kitchen. "I haven't seen her much since school, but she was quite fetching then."

That got Malfoy's attention. The Death Eater didn't speak, so Sirius thought he'd just carry on, even as a he saw movement from Remus out of the corner of his eye.

"Of course, they talk about her in Azkaban. Oh, they have _loads_ to say. Some of the things I've heard..."

"You will keep your mouth shut regarding my wife," Malfoy replied coolly, and shot bolts of green lightning at Sirius who managed to deflect them by conjuring an immense marshmallow which turned out nicely brown on the outside.

"They say she's really good with a cat o'nine tails," Sirius jeered. "Do you find that's true?"

Sirius could tell that his opponent was not pleased. Malfoy pointed his wand at the large rack of pots suspended from the ceiling; one by one, the pots came hurtling down at Sirius' head. Remus was creeping along one wall of the kitchen, so this was no time to let up.

"And one more thing," called Sirius as he ducked a saucepan. "Does she really have a birthmark on her left b--"

Malfoy cried out, enraged. Remus reached Malfoy's side just about then and dived for the wands. At the same time, Malfoy cursed a cast iron skillet, causing it to sprout iron fangs and claws as it flew towards Sirius.

Sirius, dividing his attention amongst Malfoy, Remus, and the skillet monster, found it hard to defend himself. The iron beast caught him across the shoulder, ripping its way down his back, tearing through his robes and into flesh. He staggered under the weight and the excruciating pain, hoping that Remus had been successful as he tried to shake off the attacking monster.

Remus, meanwhile retrieved the wands peeking out from underneath the book Malfoy had been using for reference on the Polyjuice Potion. Malfoy was busy with transfiguring a pan. Remus tossed away the big and not very effective borrowed wand (sixteen inches, black walnut, rather rigid) and was comforted by the feel of his own wand (ten inches, oak, dragon heartstring, nice and supple). Size wasn't everything, after all.

Sirius cried out in pain, struggling with a black beast clawing his back. Malfoy turned to face Remus, the bubbling cauldron between them.

"They say it's hard to kill a werewolf," Malfoy leered at him, "But _Avada Kedavra_ should work on your kind."

Perhaps Malfoy was bluffing. Remus never knew. He did know, however, that he was exhausted and did not have much energy left for dueling. If Malfoy managed to stun him (or do worse, since _Avada Kedavra_ did indeed work on werewolves) and hurt Sirius further, he might be able to carry out his plan to kidnap Harry. _This must not happen_. The thought of it coming to pass gave Remus new strength from somewhere deep inside.

As Malfoy raised his arms to start what looked to be a very nasty curse, Remus blasted the cauldron, sending the potion up into the air as a cloud of roiling, brown smoke. He choked on the magical fog, staggering backwards and hitting the wall unpleasantly hard. A bolt of magical energy came through the haze, showing that Malfoy had not been slowed down.

Remus felt a sharp pain in his shoulder and part of the bolt hit him. He fell to the floor, as the smoke cleared and Malfoy stepped nimbly around the cauldron. Sirius screamed in pain, the small but vicious beast which Malfoy had conjured clung to him, forcing him down on the ground. Forgetting Malfoy for the moment (which may not have been a wise thing to do), Remus threw a spell toward Sirius' attacker, a simple Profundus Charm which should force the beast back into its pre-transfigured state.

"Don't bother to get up, werewolf," said Malfoy hoarsely, raising his wand swiftly to begin a curse.

Any words which Malfoy attempted after that were drowned out by a ferocious growl. A bear-sized black dog crouched at the other end of the small kitchen, poised to leap. Remus took advantage of Malfoy's stunned surprise to scramble to his feet.

"That's enough from you, Malfoy," Remus said with a calmness which he did not entirely feel. He pointed his wand at the shocked Death Eater, wondering if he had the energy to call Malfoy's bluff. He was lucky that he never got the chance to find out.

Malfoy darted his eyes from attacking dog to attacking wizard and seemed to make up his mind. With a final swish of his wand, he Disapparated.

Remus barely registered the departure as he ran to Sirius who had transformed back and lay panting on the floor in a bloody heap. He knelt beside his friend and was rewarded with a grin when Sirius raised his head. Although there was pain in those eyes, they hadn't lost their humour.

"Defeated by a skillet," Sirius cried in mock disgust, "If only I'd had my own wand. Perhaps size _isn't_ everything, Moony."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
That's it, then. The boys are off to lick their wounds in private, and all you lucky people can get a glimpse of What Happens Next in Part 4.   
  
  
Disclaimer: JKR still owns all of these characters. 


	4. Wounds

The, er, climax of this slash series. Enjoy.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Ouch! Hey, that _hurt_!"

"It would hurt far less if you'd just hold still," Remus' tone was rather didactic. "Or do you want me to stop altogether?"

"I'm not saying..." Sirius winced again, his body tensing against the sofa, his face buried in a sofa cushion. Dismissing the pain, he tried to turn his head slightly to watch Remus, but succeeded only in seeing the edge of Remus' robe. It is difficult to get a good look at a person who's cleaning up your bleeding shoulder blades.

That robe, though. It looked rather familiar, but surely not even _Remus_ would keep the same robe for fifteen years... Weren't robes more flared, back then, anyway? What had happened to all that? He'd missed out on so much over those twelve years. Losing track of fashion was a problem he didn't mind agonizing over.

Perhaps it was just Remus' touch that felt familiar. So light: Sirius really had no business complaining. What a wimp he was. Had he really become so unaccustomed to clean physical pain? What would Remus think, Remus, who had always been so good with his hands?

"Just like old times, eh, Moony?" Sirius asked.

  
  


"What?" Remus' skilled hand slipped a little. No, he flinched to himself, not that. He's not going to bring _that_ up again.

"Me bleeding and you fixing me up," he answered quickly, so quickly that Remus wondered if Sirius sensed his unease.

"Oh, right," Remus concluded gratefully and got back to work on the two gashes. Work had become almost a friend to him in recent years, something to take his mind off life when life got painful. Or confusing. Perhaps it would keep his mind off his confusing human friend, too.

"Two more scars to add to my collection." Sirius was trying to sound cheerful. Remus could almost see the grin spread across his face. 

And what a collection it was. Here, on his lower back, was the curse scar. He'd got _that_ in a duel with a young Death Eater. A pub brawl, really. A sober Sirius had always claimed that he could out-duel every single lackey of Voldemort's, but a drunk Sirius usually wanted the whole world to know that he could handle several, and with his wand arm tied behind his back. He'd been very lucky that time, Remus remembered: the curse had missed his heart by six inches at best.

And here on his left shoulder was the dragon scratch, an inch-long pucker that was still visible; dragon wounds were notoriously hard to heal, even by magic. Remus touched it lightly, remembering how Sirius had taunted that Welsh Green and then suffered the consequences. He'd been laughing all the while, too: joyous, unforced laughter, unlike today. And had he really said _that_ about the dragon's mother?

Serious scars, but the marks of light-hearted adventure.

"You don't have much faith in me, do you?" Remus said lightly, and guiltily withdrew his hand from the dragon's mark. "I can heal these wounds without a scar."

  
  


At those words, Sirius felt almost disappointed. It was odd. He could, of course, still remember how his very first real scar had filled him with excitement, but that had been because he'd seen it as a way of making himself more interesting in the eyes of potential lovers. But now - well, now, after all his years in Azkaban and his time on the run, he was surely interesting enough for anybody.

Still, there was something else. This would be his first real scar since... since his life had paused, and turned into a nightmare. He could still remember crawling about in his cell, uncertain of his identity, of the very existence of a world outside. He had been truly glad, then, to have his scars as proof of his memories. A living record of what he had endured and accomplished, as permanent as his own flesh.

"Sometimes a scar is a good thing to have," Sirius found himself saying, "to remind you of being alive and...of what things cost."

  
  


Remus was struck, once again, by the change in his friend. That remark was something the "old" Sirius could never have felt or expressed. What would he have said? Probably some boast about how "chicks would really dig a cool scar." 

With a murmured spell, he passed his wand over the clean, but bloody wounds and was pleased to see them vanish, drying up like beach sand when the tide rolls out.

He ran his fingers lightly over Sirius' back, feeling the smooth and unblemished skin. He noticed, too, the lack of muscle tone and the bones so close to the skin. The muscled upper back and shoulders that he remembered were no more, victims of Azkaban like so many other things.

  
  


Sirius sensed his friend's pensive mood. What a pair of old wrecks they were! His teenage self would be appalled. As for the teenage Remus, well, in all honesty the teenage Remus, when left alone, had had a certain tendency to dwell on things and act mature beyond his years and all that terrible stuff. Still, he had always responded very well to his friends' distractions, joining them in their pranks with a passion that, in turn, inspired others.

Passion. _Yes_. Sirius couldn't help wondering if there was any scar left to remind Remus of the long scratches he'd once had down his back...

He supposed he could ask. He should ask. He should try _something_. Twelve years alone could not have done Remus much good, but perhaps the old spark would still be there...

"Remus?" Sirius asked, stirring and turning over.

  
  


Remus jumped. He watched Sirius sit up, pushing off the tattered robe. Underneath he wore only a pair of boxer shorts that looked suspiciously familiar. Remus thought that some of his clothes had gone missing over the summer, and here was the proof.

"How about you? Have you got any good scars to show for the last thirteen years?" Sirius grinned at him with a familiar invitation to tell tales.

"What?" Remus sat back on the sofa and didn't speak or meet Sirius' eyes for a moment. He didn't know why his pulse quickened at the hint of a dare in his old friend's voice. He had never been very good at the sort of competitive boasting practiced by Sirius and James in their school days, yet something in him wanted to rise to the challenge. 

"Come on," scolded Sirius, "you must have had some adventures, even without me."

"Well....I did fight a vampire," Remus replied, pushing up the sleeve of his robe and showing the six-inch scar on the inside of his left forearm. Now that _had _been an adventure worthy of Sirius. 

"Very impressive. You won, I take it," Sirius gestured at the mark, but Remus withdrew his arm quickly, not wanting to be touched. "Didn't get bitten or anything?" he continued lightly.

"Er, werewolves don't taste very good to vampires," Remus said, trying for the same light tone in response. This was silly. He shouldn't have tried to play the game. Maybe Sirius still gloried in the marks of past adventures, but thinking about these things only made him melancholy.

  
  


"I don't have any souvenirs of Azkaban," Sirius said lightly, his tone becoming darker as he continued, "They don't have to leave marks on you in there." 

He tried to shake off the memories bubbling in his mind like potion in a Slytherin's cauldron as he stood up and freed himself from the rest of the robe.

"This would still be my most impressive trophy," he gestured along his thigh. "The scar, I mean," he explained, looking down at the eighteen inch line, ragged and white against the too-pale flesh, that ran down his left thigh.

  
  


"From the motorbike, right?" Remus asked weakly, unable to look away. He told himself that he shouldn't get drawn into this, shouldn't think about the way it had felt to run his fingers along Sirius' leg, tracing the familiar geography of his flesh. An atlas of scars, a catalogue of the insane joy for living of-- of a boy he had known over a decade ago. 

For one dizzying moment, he wasn't sure that boy still existed. The boy who had been Remus Lupin was certainly gone.

"Of course, you still have...," Sirius began oh-so-casually. He didn't really have to say more. That had been a joke between them long ago, Sirius challenging him to go out and get another more impressive scar and Remus countering that one was quite enough, thank you. There was no one else with whom he would discuss--let alone make jokes about--the ever present reminder of who he was: the mark of the wolf. 

Remus stared at the achingly familiar grin splashed across a face he thought was gone forever, while his heart beat furiously under that silvery half-moon shaped scar above his left breast. 

"As I recall, it's right about ... there." Sirius leaned toward him and jabbed a finger at his robe, unerringly finding the spot hidden underneath the fabric. The touch burned like a fresh wound and Remus began to shiver. He closed his eyes, hoping that the memories would vanish if he could not see that face.

Sirius did not withdraw his finger. Instead he pressed his palm against Remus' chest, probing gently. The cloth felt thin and fragile, the only barrier separating him and a place long abandoned. _I can't go back there, _Remus thought desperately. Yet the harder he tried to manufacture logical arguments, the more he thought of Sirius touching the silvery scar years ago, touching it with his fingers, with his lips, with his tongue.

"Moony?" called Sirius softly.

Remus did not answer and made no protest as Sirius gently slipped his hands through the neck of his robes, pushing the fabric down off his shoulders. The scar throbbed painfully, but he not did open his eyes, did not cry out, until he felt Sirius' kiss quench the pain like ice on a burn. Only then did he gasp, first in surprise, then in pleasure.

  
  


Sirius looked up at the sound. Eyes closed and lips parted slightly, Remus was once again the boy who had shared pleasure with him, and not the tired looking former Hogwarts teacher who seemed so distant and so grown up. Could he have the boy back? No. That wasn't possible. But what they shared...could they find that again?

And why not? Happiness of any sort could be so elusive: a painful lesson which was taught him often--too many times to count--in the classroom of Azkaban. There was no quiet and no privacy for anyone in that prison. People screamed out their greatest fears and greatest joys loud enough so that even the great black dog who was immune to the power of the dementors could hear and understand. 

So many of them had grasped happiness and then lost it, gambling it against greed or jealously or spite. After the dementors got through with them, of course, only the pain remained. Well, he knew that he had been happy and had managed to hold on to that knowledge, keeping it safe the way a single coal is saved from a fire to kindle it anew.

With excitement rising, Sirius ran his tongue over the scar, wanting to touch and taste the familiar country of Remus' skin, hoping that some pleasure might still exist amidst the wreckage of their friendship. If only... 

Did he still have the nerve? After twelve years in hellish limbo, he wasn't sure. A single word from Remus might end it before it had even begun. And then he would never know...

Not a word, but a touch--fingers hesitantly stroking his hair--made him look up again.

  
  


It was so...easy, Remus realised, to slip away, to be overcome by the familiar feeling of Sirius exploring, his mouth wandering and leaving no place untasted. And he did not want it to stop. More than thirteen years of loneliness and rejection showed him how precious and rare happiness could be. Turning away from pleasure, however brief, seemed very foolish all of a sudden.

Tired as he was from the transformation, Remus was aroused now. He plunged his fingers into Sirius' hair and opened his eyes, looking down at his friend's expectant face. 

"I don't think you..." he breathed hoarsely, "should stop because..." 

He was distracted by Sirius tugging at his robe, forcing it down around his hips, and then taking up the tasting where he'd left off. "...because you never know..." 

Remus' mouth felt dry and he had trouble recollecting his thoughts as Sirius sank lower, running his tongue playfully across his belly. "..when a load of Death Eaters is going to..." 

He struggled to free himself from the last of his clothes, sending them to the floor in a heap. "...is going to show up and..."

"...take you by surprise," murmured Sirius, who proceeded to remind Remus something about the art of surprise.

  
  


Some time later, Sirius rested his head on Remus' thigh, breathing hard, and felt rather than heard the quick, sharp breaths of his friend, slowing down in tempo in the aftermath of pleasure. Lazily, he snaked his arm upward, running it along Remus' forearm. As his fingers dug into flesh, Remus grasped his arm, pulling him up with surprising strength.

They met and kissed, awkwardly at first, although not for lack of passion. No, rather too much passion, long put aside, spawned some hesitancy about where to put arms and hands and fingers. 

But Sirius remembered the rhythm of kissing and breathing, and then dove deep without any thought of coming up for air... and was rewarded by feeling Remus, too, pick up the old rhythms, his hands moving with__ certainty and purpose

"Gods, you're strong," Sirius said, taking a break, but still enveloped in Remus' arms. "I'd forgotten what a monster you are."

"Grrrr," replied Moony the monster.

"Bet I could still beat you in wrestling, though." 

Remus tackled him in response, rolling down off the sofa and pinning Sirius to the floor. For his part, Sirius sank into the warmth and security of lying with someone who has supernatural strength, but refuses to use it. Most of the time.

Of course, just because Moony was stronger, that was no reason for Sirius not to fight back. And he did, exchanging nips with Remus, wherever he could reach. As they grappled, he felt certain that no Anti-Wilting Charm would be needed tonight, and he enjoyed more and more the feeling of Remus pressing down on him.

"Ouch. Hey, your teeth are still pretty sharp!"

Moony growled again, a throaty and feral sound buried in Sirius' hip. Then he stopped, picked up his head, and sat back on his heels. Sirius thought he saw a hint of the wolf looking down at him. 

This was the grand game for him: flirting with a powerful Dark creature, daring the beast to devour him (literally or figuratively--either could be enjoyable). There had been plenty of times in the past when he took control of their romps, but when the beast came out...well, it was best to enjoy the ride.

Breathing hard, Sirius reached up and pulled a cushion down from the sofa, so that he'd be comfortable. This was starting to get good....

"I won't have you chewing my cushions," Remus frowned and tried to catch his breath. Sirius couldn't gauge the true state of his irritation; had Remus always been this fussy? He couldn't remember. Well, there had been a few things chewed up over the years, but all in good fun. 

"Aw, Moony. It's only because you make me." He propped himself up on his elbows and leered. "Make me...?"

  
  


Taunting, pleading, daring. No-one else but Sirius could do this to him, could make him want to attack with such ferocity. Who was the victim here? Remus had pondered this on more than one occasion.

Moony was not troubled by such inner turmoil, however. He _knew_ he was top dog, and who owed him allegiance. And so he sprang, dismissing whatever angst troubled Remus, even as Sirius reached up to pull him down.

They kissed briefly, but Moony moved on, eager to reclaim long-forgotten territory. He tasted hungrily from neck down, savoring the many flavours and tracing the texture of the more interesting scars with his tongue.

Sirius closed his eyes, luxuriating in the tingling that remained all over his skin and the curious buzzing in his head. This is really getting good, he thought, chewing on his cushion.

  
  


Later Remus listened to breathing. His own and Sirius'. He lay sprawled across Sirius' smooth back, one cheek against a shoulder blade he had so expertly healed a few hours earlier.

"Padfoot...?" he called softly over his friend's shoulder.

"Mmmm." Came the slow, slurred response; he could feel it vibrating beneath him. "I'm too tired, Moony..."

Remus grinned, thinking this must be a first: Sirius, too tired. So, he stroked the pale skin and tugged at the sweaty ribbons of black hair at Sirius' neck.

And it came to him gently, stealthily. He understood the _why_'s in a way he never had before. He understood why he fell, becoming Sirius' lover at age eighteen; he understood why, after more than fifteen years, he needed this now; he understood why it felt so comfortable. 

Adult life had made him harder, had stripped away illusion and security, had forced him to become a person he frequently detested. But those long, hard years had also taught him that finding happiness by losing yourself in another person was rare but not impossible. And when the opportunity arose...

Remus sighed and gently turned over the sleeping Sirius, whose face finally resembled the lost boy he remembered. The lines about the eyes and forehead were smoothed and the terribly empty eyes were closed. Neither of them, or anything they might do, would bring back the boys they once were. Still, it was enough to know that they were there.

Remus twined his arms around Sirius and slept more contentedly than he had in years.

  
  


And even later. 

"Aaroooooo!"

"Wha-" Sirius mumbled incoherently. There seemed to be a wolf howling somewhere.

Where was he? That took some thought. After disentangling himself from a sleeping Remus (looking more exhausted than he remembered after a full moon), he sat up and looked around. He was on the rug next to the sofa in Remus' front room.

"Aaroooooo!" There it came again. On consideration, it sounded like a bad imitation of a wolf.

"Remus." He shook his friend gently. "You expecting company?"

"Boggart," groaned Remus softly, opening one eye and then thinking better of it. "Boggart...in the clock."

Sirius glanced around the small sitting room. There was a grandfather clock next to the front door.

"Lives in there sometimes," mumbled Remus sleepily, "and messes up the chimes. Keeps time correctly, though." Remus yawned, managed to open both eyes, and propped himself up on one elbow. "Why, what time is it?"

Sirius craned his neck to see over the back of the sofa. "Noon. _Noon!_" he gasped. "I told Harry I'd be there at two. How did I-- I mean, how did we, er, sleep so late?" That last question was largely rhetorical, at least as far as Remus was concerned. Sirius grinned at him with wicked pride, showing that he knew the answer, too.

However, he knew that he didn't want to be late meeting Harry for his birthday. He took his godfather's responsibilities seriously, even though he frequently wasn't sure what it was a godfather actually did.

"You'll make it," said Remus, lazily stroking his thigh. "Borrow whatever clothes you need and have a quick wash up. You can fly there in under an hour."

Sirius grumbled at that and stood, stretching in a way that Remus admired. It was a long, slow stretch and Remus wouldn't have minded if it had gone on for a lot longer. But that might make Sirius late.

The stretch seemed to invigorate Sirius (and not in the same way as his friend), who dashed off to find some clothes. When he returned to the main room, Remus was sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket and blinking at the sunlight flooding through the back windows of the cottage.

"When you see Arthur Weasley," Remus said thoughtfully, "tell him about what happened. Don't tell Harry, though."

"Think I'm the kiss and tell type, eh?" Sirius grinned, willfully misunderstanding his friend. He came over to the sofa, standing behind Remus and kneading his shoulders. "I suppose next you'll be telling me to submit something to the Fabulous Farfetched News column in _Witches' Weekly_." 

"Oh," scowled Remus, turning to look up at him, "about Malfoy, I meant. You're terrible, really, and you haven't changed a bit."

"Speaking of Malfoy," Sirius mused, "I think I'll write him a thank-you note."

"Pardon?" said a sleepy and befuddled Remus.

"Thanking him for bringing us together after all these years. What a matchmaker Lucius Malfoy turned out to be."

With a final squeeze of Remus' shoulder, Sirius strode toward the door.

"Don't forget my present for Harry. It's on the table next to the door," Remus called.

"Right," said Sirius crisply, "and get some sleep, Moony. I'll be back later tonight to see just how rested you are."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A comment for everyone: Do review! Flame us if you like, we love flames. They're more amusing than Goyle's tiger-striped thong.   
  
  
A comment for the angstful: So, a happy ending! Or is it? Many issues remain unresolved; Sirius' assumption that Remus was the traitor, for example. And it's not like either of these two has had much practice at being in an actual relationship... In other words, we don't think the boys will be picking out curtains any time soon. We foresee lots of pain and gloomy brooding.   
  
  
A comment fo the perverted: this is pretty tame, no? We have decided that FFN is not the best forum to post real NC-17 texts. We will, however, be posting an uncensored version on the mailing list hpslash. To get a look at it, go to www.egroups.com and get an account, then find the mailing list and follow the sign-up instructions... (Btw, you have to be 18 or above to join.)   
  
  
A comment for the legally-minded: the Harry Potter characters belong to J K Rowlling. 


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